Demon Moon

P——has requested I transform him. I think I shall do it; aside from the ridiculous story he published, I have little reason to refuse .
    —Colin to Ramsdell, 1821

    Colin’s softly voiced question frightened her more than the deep growl echoing down the alleyway. She unwrapped her legs from around his hips, set her feet on the ground. Remembering the speed with which he’d moved at Polidori’s, she said, “Not fast enough.”
    He nodded tightly as he turned his head, his gaze locking on whatever he saw there. She knew what it must be, but was too afraid to look.
    A wyrmwolf.
    “Do you have anything in your reticule? A knife, a gun? A garrote?” Colin’s body still pressed hers into the wall; protection instead of passion now.
    “No weapons. I’m sorry.”
    A feral snarl ripped through the air, shivered down her spine. Why did it wait? Was it uncertain, confused by the two of them there?
    Though he didn’t look at her, his lips tilted in a quick smile. “Don’t apologize, sweet. Just brace yourself, and hold on. It’s a short distance to my car, but it’ll chase us.” He pushed a pair of keys into her palm, then slowly bent and slid his forearm behind her knees. “If I fall, get inside and use the symbols.”
    Her heart thundered, a protest rose in her throat, but she didn’t let it out. She wound her arm around the back of his neck and tucked her chin down.
    Even with that precaution, the rotation and acceleration whipped her head against his shoulder, made the world swim sickeningly around her.
    She forced herself to stay conscious, though she couldn’t breathe, though her chest felt weighted by a boulder. G-forces? The rear end of the Bentley rushed toward them with startling speed. Oh, god, how would he stop in time?
    He didn’t. They were suddenly airborne, and the world spun again as Colin twisted, lifted her arm from his neck, and curled himself around her. She had a brief glimpse of the wyrmwolf directly behind them, its jaws wide open and slavering.
    They crashed through the wide rear window; Colin took the brunt of the impact on his back, but it still slammed through her. Lights exploded behind her eyelids. She barely felt it when he tossed her over the headrests and she landed in the front seats. She bit back the gasp of pain as her stomach jarred into the console.
    She had no air for it, anyway.
    Growls filled the car, Colin’s and the wyrmwolf’s. Tiny cubes of glass lay on the seat beside her; with shaking fingers, she picked one up and sliced the edge across her palm in a jagged line.
    She held her hand over the symbols on the dashboard, and turned to look, waiting.
    The wyrmwolf’s head and shoulders were through the shattered window; Colin was ripping at the backseat, while trying to hold it off with his other hand. He didn’t make a sound when it clamped its jaws around his wrist, but used his trapped arm to batter the thing’s head against broken glass and metal trim. The roof dented with the force of it.
    It whimpered and let go; Colin pivoted on the seat and slammed his foot against the side of its jaw. It fell back, outside the car.
    Savi activated the symbols.
    The wyrmwolf smashed soundlessly into the back window as if the glass had been intact. The Bentley rocked beneath the impact, but the spell held.
    Colin clawed at the seat back, leather and stuffing flying to the side. Trying to get to the trunk, she realized. He must have weapons inside. She could see the small leather loop that would allow him to pull the seat forward, and give him access—didn’t he know it was there?
    “Colin—”
    “Don’t talk!” he commanded hoarsely. The seatback tore from its fastenings with the rip of fabric and screech of metal. “Don’t fucking move, and don’t lower your shields.”
    She bit her lip and nodded. Her palm burned, and she cupped it tightly over her knee to staunch the wound—but he must smell it. Shudders wracked her body, welling up from deep within.
    Her blood, his blood. The pain of the wyrmwolf’s attack. He had to be at the edge of his control.
    She could hardly believe he had any control.
    He leaned forward and withdrew two swords from the trunk before straightening up. He kneeled for a moment, his back rigid, his breathing harsh.
    “Are you hurt?” he finally asked.
    The wyrmwolf’s grisly muzzle and glowing red eyes appeared in the window beside her face. She swallowed her scream, and whispered, “No.” Not critically.
    The car shook. But